


Across the Distance; Across the Room

by FrodaB



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrodaB/pseuds/FrodaB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Ariadne says "I miss you" and one time Arthur says it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Distance; Across the Room

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/9742.html?thread=19742734#t19742734) at [](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**inception_kink**](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/). Warnings for sex and some implied gruesome bodily harm to Arthur (in a dream). A little of everything - angst, hurt/comfort, some unmitigated schmoop.

_Paris_

He picks up on the second ring.

"I know you know what time it is, here. I hope this is good." His tone is neutral, except for the hint of a smile she's sure is on his face.

"I always have a good reason for calling." He snorts at that, and she can hear the rustle of papers from his end. "You're not sleeping, anyway. You should be. I know what time it is over there."

That earns her a short laugh. Point, Ariadne. "Yes, well. I appreciate the concern. I'm busy."

"You wouldn't be you if you weren't." She pauses, bites her lip, feels a little stupid. "I miss you."

He's silent for a brief moment. She can't picture his face, now. She has no idea what kind of reaction her sudden statement elicited, what he might be thinking.

"You'll see me in three days, Ariadne." His voice is gentle, almost... apologetic.

"Yeah, well. Just thought I'd... make sure."

"I'll be there." He doesn't say anything like _I promise_ , but she hears it anyway.

***

_New Orleans_

The most oppressive, sweltering heat she's ever experienced. That's almost all Ariadne can think about as she navigates the French Quarter in August, her tank top damp with sweat and her hair limp in its ponytail.

The hotel is not the usual expensive, luxurious place - it's tucked down a side street, in an old building with crappy air conditioning. The lobby is barely five degrees cooler than the street outside.

She knocks softly on the door, room number 215, and it opens a crack - to reveal a gun pointed at her face.

Ariadne gasps in shock, and Arthur drops the gun immediately, a curse under his breath.

" _Jesus_ , what are you doing here? How did you find me?" He pulls her inside, closes and locks the door behind her.

"I..." Her throat is suddenly dry - this was a _bad_ idea. "Eames."

"Of _course_. Fuck. Ariadne, what were you thinking? It's dangerous, what if you were followed?"

Her chin goes up. "I _wasn't_. I'm not stupid, Arthur." Just a little reckless, sometimes. "I missed you. I had no idea where you were or if you were even okay..."

He sighs, runs a hand over his face, then tugs her close, briefly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"It's too goddamn hot for this," she comments.

He laughs. "You're right."

He runs a cool bath, and they spend a good hour getting pruney in it.

***

_New York City_

He's not supposed to be here, but she's not complaining.

Especially not when his mouth covers hers and he tugs at her clothes with a sound low in his throat that she thinks he might only ever make with her.

He leaves bite marks along her collar bones, pressing her against a wall.

On the sofa, one of the buttons on his shirt pops off, rolling under the coffee table and he doesn't even seem to notice because his mouth is sucking gently on one of her nipples and his hands slide under her ass to fit their hips together.

His mouth is between her legs on the carpet, his breath is hot and his tongue is clever and his eyes meet hers when she says his name just before she comes.

On the bed, he fucks her, slow and deep, and her hands sketch familiar patterns on his face, and when his breath hitches and his hips still and his eyes close, she whispers, "I missed you," into his shoulder.

"So how are your parents?" he asks later, carding fingers through her hair.

***

_Bangkok_

Sometimes, a job goes wrong. It's one of the first things he taught her when she decided to keep doing this.

Sometimes, a job goes very, _very_ wrong, and tough decisions have to be made.

They're running from a group of thugs, down a street, winding and twisting at nearly-impossible angles.

Arthur's scream curdles her blood, and she turns to what is definitely the most gruesome scene she's ever witnessed - he's being gutted, slowly, by the psychopathic projections of the mark ("he's rather... unsavory," Arthur had told her at the beginning of this, she'd almost thought he was joking, but no. Not a joke. An understatement.).

There is so much blood, her stomach roils and she tries not to cry out, tries not to draw attention to herself.

He sees her, anyway, and something behind the pain in his eyes is apologetic, just before she raises the gun and fires. She's not sure how her hands stay steady enough to hit him between the eyes, but they do.

It's an interminable time before she wakes, and when she does, her eyes search him out immediately.

Arthur is pale, and his eyes are shuttered, but his breathing is steady and even and there is no blood on his clothes, no blood on her hands as she crawls into his lap and sobs there, uncaring that the rest of the team is waking up, packing up the device, cleaning up the evidence of their crime.

She doesn't say it; she doesn't have to.

***

_Tokyo_

Arguments are fairly common, but they're usually short-lived. Rarely do voices get raised, doors get slammed.

But sometimes there is simply a fundamental difference of opinion.

Sometimes, he walks out the door, his face tight with lines of anger.

When he gets back from his "walk", two hours later, she's curled on the sofa, a sketchbook across her lap that she's idly flipping through. She stops at a sketch of him, leaning back in a chair as he writes in that little notebook he always carries.

It's not very good; Ariadne isn't that good at drawing people.

Arthur's hand covers hers and she lets out a breath, like she's been holding it the whole time he was gone.

"I'm sorry. I missed you. Don't do that again."

He hesitates a moment, then tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "Okay. I won't."

***

_Paris, again_

She always ends up back here, at this time of year. It's warm, but not so warm that she has to forego the scarves she favors.

Paris is her default dreamscape; her perfect city; it's part of her soul.

This year, Arthur is busy. Has work to do, research, jobs to take care of. He kissed her palms before she boarded her flight and promised to make it up to her.

She's sure he will, though the streets feel just a little wrong as she walks them, without him by her side.

When she gets back to her hotel that evening, she is unprepared to see him standing there on the street outside, hands in his pockets. He looks almost exactly the same as he did the day they met, five years ago. The weather is even the same. Hell, she might be wearing the same scarf.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had work."

He shrugs, taking her hand as they walk inside. "I missed you."

"Shut up." She punches his arm lightly and watches his eyes crinkle at the corners. His smile still does unspeakable things to her insides.

"Do you think I'm lying?"

"I think you're full of shit, as usual, Arthur."

"That doesn't make it untrue."

Her hotel suite is quite a contrast to the flat she'd been living in when she first met Cobb, and Arthur, and the others. It's large, airy and luxurious.

It actually takes her a moment to realize he's pulled something out of his pocket.

Ariadne stares at the little box, speechless for once.

"Believe me now?" Arthur raises his eyebrows, offers it to her.

"Yeah, okay."


End file.
